Everyone On The Planes Died
by ardavenport
Summary: An alternate version of the end of 'Survival on Charter 220'. More Johnny and Roy and everyone else. And why waste a good head injury? :
1. Chapter 1

**EVERYONE ON THE PLANES DIED**

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong>- - - Part 1<strong>

_He knew he was going to be fine. Everyone was there. John could hear them . . . ._

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, This is nothing, I hurt my shoulder."_

_Marco Lopez: "Yeah, just a scratch. That wall practically fell on you."_

_What HAPPENED?_

_Chet Kelly: "A plane crash, man. Must'a practically landed on top of you."_

_A plane crash?_

_Marco Lopez: "Yeah. Real bad, too. Must've gone straight down."_

_Did anyone make it?_

_Chet Kelly: "Not from what we could see. It's bad. Body parts everywhere. We're just trying to put out the fires and find anyone who might be trapped in the houses, like you and Roy."_

_Roy. . . . . he went to Rampart with Jennifer, they had been on a call for the little girl; she had a head injury; her mother, Chris, was a fireman's widow. John stared up at a sky so blue, it hurt, marred by dissipating smoke plumes._

_Mike Stoker: "There they are, Cap."_

_Captain Stanley: "Hey, how ya doin'?"_

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, I'm fine, Cap. Just waitin' my turn."_

_Marco Lopez: "Yeah, Doctor Morton heard one of Chet's jokes and said he was more likely to die from that than his shoulder, but he's still got to get it x-rayed."_

_Captain Stanley: "Well, that's good. If you're done here, Engine 18 needs some more manpower as soon as they get that fire knocked down on the house on the end. How're you doin', Gage?"_

_The pain from the sky had descended and pierced his temples; a paralyzing whine drilling through his skull._

_Chet Kelly, Captain Stanley: "Hey, John. Johnny? Hey, Gage, Gage!"_

_Marco Lopez: "Hey, Doc! Over here!"_

_Dr. Morton: "What'a'ya got?"_

_Captain Stanley: "I don't know, he just went out on us."_

_"Gage! Gage! . . . . "_

_The pain went to black. The roar of it washed out all other sounds except for a whining siren, rising and falling in waves of nausea. He didn't want to be sick. Fortunately, he was too tired to be. And he could still hear . . . . _

_Dr. Early: "Johnny, Johnny . . . . "_

_Dixie McCall: "Blood pressure's eighty over fifty."_

_Dr. Early: "We've got to get him up to surgery, fast . . . ."_

_He heard less and less. The pain in his head smothered everything with darkness that stretched on and on, diluted by distance and time . . . ._

_. . . . but everyone was still there . . . ._

_Dixie: "Kel, I didn't know you were back."_

_Dr. Brackett: "I just got in. Sorry I missed the party. Not a good time to be at a medical conference."_

_Dixie: "We really missed you. Unfortunately, the party's not over, yet."_

_Dr. Brackett: "That's what Joe told me. Any change?"_

_Dixie: "No . . . . "_

_. . . . except something had changed. The dark no longer hurt. Much. Maybe it was the hospital finally doing what it was supposed to do. The long, blissful time of not hurting much stretched on and on . . . ._

_Dr. Brackett: "How's he doing, Joe?"_

_Dr. Early: "Hanging in there. About as well as can be expected, I guess."_

_Dr. Brackett: "Hmmm . . . ."_

_The sameness kept going on and on . . . . . but he could still hear them coming and going, talking . . . ._

_Captain Stanley: "What?"_

_Chet Kelly: "It's true. Look, it's here in this magazine. People in comas can hear you, I swear. And if you talk to them, it helps bring them back."_

_Mike Stoker: "I don't know, Chet. You talking isn't exactly what I'd think Gage would want to hear."_

_Marco Lopez: "Yeah, Chet, I don't think he'd want to hear what you've got to say, even if he is unconscious." _

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, you don't understand. I talked to this nurse, Molly, that Gage has been trying to get a date with for the last month and she was feeling a little bad that she blew him off and she gave me this book she was reading - - "_

_Captain Stanley: "You're going to read THAT? To Gage?"_

_. . . . things weren't changing, just darkness that didn't hurt too bad . . . ._

_Dr. Early: "Johnny? Johnny?"_

_The same, the same, the same, the same. But everyone was still there, so it had to be okay._

_Roy: "I don't know what to say. I mean . . . . "_

_Joanne: "It's all right. He knows you're here."_

_He knew, he knew, he knew. Everyone was there._

_Chet Kelly: ". . . . Lord Asher glowered down at her from atop his stallion, his chiseled features outlined in the golden rays of the sunset, his piercing green eyes fixed her in place like a hawk hypnotizing his prey. Her knees felt wobbly and she was grateful that her long petticoats and skirt hid her quivering legs._

_"'So, Miss Evans, is it? You are the new tenet in Rosewood Cottage?'_

_"'Yes, Milord, with my mother, my niece and our maid.'_

_"'And you are staying the whole summer, Miss Evans?'_

_"He pursed his lips, his brows lowering, his noble features disapproving. Amelia stayed frozen in place, struggling not to throw herself down before this man to beg his forgiveness for whatever offense he seemed to think she had committed . . . ."_

_Something was wrong. Even though the intense hurting was gone, and everyone was there, something was out of place. he just wasn't sure what it was._

_Dixie: "C'mon Johnny, I know you're listening."_

_Was Dixie holding is hand? That didn't seem right. The sameness was getting tedious. The same, the same, the same, the same, the same._

_Chet Kelly: "'I don't know what you mean,' Mrs Hawthorne replied in her clipped tones. She turned her head aside as if Amelia were not even worth this small smidgen of time that she was taking to speak to her. 'I was merely returning his Lordship's book to his library. If you wish to imagine that I could have been spying on you, for I-don't-know-what reason, I cannot be held responsible for the fancies of a woman who should be old enough to know better."_

_"Amelia's cheeks grew hot. Mrs. Hawthorne might have been Lord Asher's trusted housekeeper, but she was still just a servant. She opened her mouth to put this woman in her place, but was cut off by the arrival of Lord Asher's ward."_

_"Oh, oh, Melie, Mr. Codrick said that some packages have arrived in the village! It MUST be the new dresses for the dance this Saturday! Please, please come!" Esther squealed and danced around them, the yellow bows in her hair and on her white frock bouncing with the young girl's boundless enthusiasm._

_Mrs Hawthorne looked down at Lord Asher's ward with barely contained disdain. "Yes, Milady, perhaps you should attend to your - - -"_

_Dr. Early: "Are you sure this is something that Johnny would read?"_

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, no way, Doc. But chicks LOVE this stuff. And Johnny digs chicks. So, it's perfect."_

_Dr. Early: "Well, okay . . . ."_

_He was missing time. Time that vanished into the darkness. Time smothered by the sameness. And one relentless sound . . . ._

_Beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, . . . ._

_Roy: "Dr. Early says that he can come out of it any time."_

_Mom: "And he's a good doctor, this Dr. Early?"_

_Roy: "He's the best . . . ."_

_Dad: "It is too soon to talk about taking our son home . . . . We've only just arrived."_

_Mom: "I know . . . ."_

_Beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, . . . ._

_Even when time seemed to vanish, he was sure that sound was still there. Reliably going on and on and on in the darkness . . . ._

_Chet Kelly: "The sweat on her face glistened in the firelight and she looked up. The flickering light glowed like amber embers in his eyes. She felt his desire reflected in her own body, down in those lower places that ladies did not talk about, or even acknowledge were there._

_He reached for her bare shoulder and she flinched, still clutching her torn bodice to her, still unwilling to give into the mutual lust burning inside both of them that threatened to turn them into two rutting beasts, slaves to overwhelming passion. If she gave herself to him, what would Lord Asher think, if he found out?"_

_He grabbed her, and she did not pull away this time, melting into his arms, his hungry eyes drinking her in, possessing her, stripping away her will to resist what was burning inside her. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that if he threw her down on the floor and ravished her right there, at that moment, that she would give herself to him completely - - "_

_Dixie: "Well, if that doesn't wake him up, I don't know what well."_

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, hey! I didn't see you there. I was just getting' to some of the good parts."_

_Dixie: "Yes, I can see that."_

_Chet Kelly: "Oh, um, aaah, yeah . . . ."_

_Beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, . . . ._

_The same darkness. The same, the same, the same, thesame, thesame, thesamethesamethesame . . . ._

John opened his eyes. To a plain, white ceiling above. The heart monitor kept up it's high-toned pace; beeep, beeep, beeep.

He blinked, the whiteness going blurry. He blinked again, aware of the shapes of other things in the hospital room. IV stand, lights, trays, pale blue walls, door, window; it was day . . . .

Beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep, beeep . . . .

A head appeared. Blurry reddish auburn curls. She wore white, but no nurse's cap. They didn't seem to be wearing them anymore.

He couldn't really make out her expression, but the face was recognizable. He tried to smile back up at Molly Turner, ask her how she was doing. "Uuuuuunnn. . . ." Barely any sound came out at all from his dry lips, his tongue painfully stuck in place. Water.

She seemed to know, lifted his head and put a glass to his lips. The liquid went in. It hurt badly to swallow, as if his throat ripped itself open to allow the first few drops through. The second swallow still hurt, but was almost blissfully easier with the memory of movement flooding back into him.

He'd barely had enough before she put the glass aside and left with a promise to get the doctor. The door swung closed and then immediately open again. A larger person in blue and gray plaid shirt came to him. Still blurry, but easily recognizable.

"Roy?"

Even though the name came out as barely a whisper, his partner heard and quirked a nervous smile down at him.

"Hey." He half turned back toward the door. "She's just going to get Dr. Early. Tell him you're awake."

Johnny didn't know what to say either. And wasn't sure if he could say much anyway. What had happened? Roy asked the obvious.

"How're ya feeling?"

John did not actually know. His head felt queasy; there was a headache lurking in there somewhere.

"Mmmm, okay, I guess."

Something else was bothering him.

"Roy?"

Roy leaned a little closer.

"Are my parents here?"

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 1<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**EVERYONE ON THE PLANES DIED  
><strong>

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong>- - - Part 2<strong>

Yes, his parents were there. And his aunt. And one of his other aunts, who didn't live in Southern California. And his sister. And his brother had been there, but had to go back home to family and work. But they weren't at the hospital at the moment. Roy was.

Dr. Early came. White coat, silver-gray hair, leaning over him with lots of questions about what he felt when Early poked here and there. That headache was starting to find it's way to becoming a definite pain behind his eyes. He had no tingling or numbness, but when he squeezed Early's hand there was no strength in his grip, his fingers nearly limp. There was a IV port in his arm. And a catheter for urine. He had been in Rampart like this before; he knew what it felt like, but a dizzy weakness dragged on his whole body. He had to think to answer Early's questions . . . .

. . . . he could tell them what happened. They were on a run. A little girl with a head injury. Jennifer. Then the sound, getting louder and louder and then the crash. Everything going black. They said it was a plane crash. Practically landed on top of them. They had to be dug out of the rubble. His vision sharpened to something close to normal while he spoke.

Early had his head turned away toward Roy. "That's very good. No memory loss. Apparently no motor control impairment. Looks like he'll make a full recovery." The doctor looked down at him again.

"Hey, how's . . . how's Jennifer? She doin' okay?" His voice felt a little stronger now, after answering Early's questions.

"She's fine. Already gone home. You're the one we've been worried about. Looked like you were going to ruin my average for awhile there." Early patted his shoulder. "You're going to be fine.

"Oh, okay." That seemed obvious to John. He knew he was going to be fine, especially with Roy and the doctor there.

Early looked to Roy. "Can you stay here with him for me?"

"Sure, Doc."

Early left and Roy stepped closer, but didn't say anything. Recalling what Early had said, John stared up at the ceiling. The words sluggishly acquired meaning.

"Hey, Roy . . . what did he mean by 'ruining his average?'"

"Oh, um, it's just that, he did practically the same surgery on you that he did on Jennifer. You just kept us all worried there for a little longer."

"Oh." He stared upward. The ceiling tiles were plain white, with some kind of rough texture.

"Roy. . . . how did a plane crash on top of us?"

"Oh, well . . . . it was a mid-air collision, a chartered jet and a small plane hit each other. They both went straight down."

"Bad?"

"Yeah, real bad. Everybody on the planes was killed. Fifty-seven.

John winced at the number. That many dead? He had never been on a rescue with that many. But technically, he was a victim, too. "What about anyone on the ground? Was anyone killed?"

Roy seemed to have trouble answering. "Yeah. Two. It, um, . . . . it was Pete and Charlie. The jet landed on their apartment building; it was a total loss."

"Oh." Pete . . . . and . . . . Charlie. Roy said the names like he was supposed to know them . . . . fatigue muddied his thoughts, as if he'd been sedated. It didn't make sense for Dr. Early to do that; he had a head injury. But he wouldn't have minded getting something for his headache.

_Pete and Charlie. Pete and Charlie. Charlie and Pete . . . . ._ A jolt of memory went through him, instantly dispelling the fog.

"Wait . . . . _Pete and Charlie?"_ He lifted his head from the pillow. He had only seen them that morning, getting off work, Station Fifty-One's C-shift paramedics.

"Hey, hey." Roy put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle push back down and he blinked from the sudden dizziness. "Just lie still . . . . there wasn't anything that could be done." Roy lowered his eyes. "It was a freak accident."

"Yeah." John's eyes fixated on the ceiling tiles again as the room slowly stopped moving. "Is there going to be a funeral? Man . . . I mean, how's Chris taking it? It's gotta be rough."

"Uh, yeah. She's not taking it too well. Joanne talked to her." Roy looked uncomfortable. "The funeral was yesterday. There was a public memorial for both of them."

_Yesterday? That didn't make sense._

"Roy, how long have I been out?"

Roy seemed to be looking for a way to not reply before answering. "Almost three days."

"Three _days_?" That bolt of reality was like a new bucket of cold water on his sluggish brain. Roy again lay a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. Just lie still. Doc'll be back in a minute."

_Three DAYS?_

Of course. His parents were there. His aunts, his sister, his brother had all come. To do what? He did not want to think about it . . . . but he knew. They were his legal next-of-kin and they would have to decide what to do with him . . . . if he didn't wake up from his coma.

He wanted to get up out of bed right away and show Roy and all of them that he was NOT in a coma anymore . . . . . but, he didn't think he'd make it. While his brain was awake now, it didn't feel as if his body had caught up. His headache was verging on nausea. And now that he was thinking about it, he could feel the 'extra' bedding under his lower torso, smell the distinctive antiseptic hospital soap that must have been used to bathe him with. He hoped it hadn't been Molly Turner. If it had, then asking her out for a date was out. That wasn't the kind of experience that needed to be shared with a girlfriend. And had someone shaved him? Lying there, he couldn't tell if he was getting a beard or not. He didn't have a heavy beard, so it wouldn't be too bad, but . . . .

He turned his head. Yes, he could feel it now, there were bandages, wrapped over his forehead and under. Between the back of his head and the pillow.

"Roy." Another shock of realization went through him. His partner laid a hand on his shoulder again, his face immediately gone serious.

"Roy . . . . did they _shave my head?_"

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 2<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**EVERYONE ON THE PLANES DIED  
><strong>

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong>- - - Part 3<strong>

Yes. They shaved his head. Well, yeah, there had been brain surgery. But when the bandages came off, he was going to be _bald_ until it grew back.

His parents returned before Dr. Early, his mother in a gray pantsuit and fussing, his father in jeans and shirt and standing back, glowering his worry with Roy, who tried to be reassuring. John had to accept their worry. There had been brain surgery.

And he hadn't been the victim of any ordinary plane crash. The Governor of the state had been on the passenger jet. Plus members of his staff, and a bunch of reporters. It had been all over the news for days. That was what had held up Dr. Early; he had to speak to the press, who were hungry for news of the injured paramedic still in a coma. But Early refused to make any statement until his parents returned to the hospital and could be sent up to see him.

The visit was short. Even though he was in bed and hardly moving, John tired, finding it hard to keep track of what anyone was saying to him until Early told them his patient needed rest. Roy was the last out, pausing at the door with one last look. John tried to give him a half-smile. Brain surgery or not, he was still all there,, but he wasn't sure if his smile was quite working right. It seemed to satisfy Roy.

After that, they did give him pills and water for his headache and he dozed for awhile, not interested in thinking about anything. Nurses came for his vital signs and went. He didn't keep count of how many times. A therapist came by, a guy name Norm that John didn't know. He didn't think he slept, but suddenly there was a tray table and a bowl of soup for lunch in front of him. He was sitting up, with no IV in his arm.

He wearily looked down and tried to think of how he could get away from it. The smell was making him nauseous, as if it was a bowl full of urine, instead of soup. The Nurse, Ellen Simpson, a 50-plus matron with gray curls and kind brown eyes, seemed deaf to his protests that he was not hungry.

The door to the room opened. Dixie McCall, in civilian clothes, blue blouse, white pants, white purse over her arm, entered.

"Hey, Johnny, I came right over when I heard you were up."

"Oh, hi, Dix. Thanks for stopping by." He smiled up at her, but then flinched as Nurse Simpson tucked a napkin into the front of his hospital gown. She picked up the spoon.

"Now, Mr. Gage, do you think you can do this, or do you need my help?"

"No." He pulled away a little, as if maybe he could make himself a smaller target. "No. Really, I'm not hungry."

"Oh really."

He looked back toward Dixie at the sound of her voice. He had hoped she would be an ally, but her expression had gone cool and professional and very much like Simpson. Did they teach that in nursing school? Her blond hair was graying as well, though her beautiful features hardly showed her age.

"Now, Johnny, you've got to have something. How do you expect to get your strength back?"

"Do you think you can get him to eat, Miss McCall? I've got a lot of patients on the floor today."

"I think I can handle him." Her eyes on him, Dixie slipped her purse off her shoulder and put it in a chair by the bed. With a quick thanks, matronly Nurse Simpson left him to Nurse Dixie McCall's tender mercies.

He tried a smile, but it didn't get very far. Dixie picked up the spoon.

"Now, do you think you can do this? Or do you need my help?" Her voice went low, a tacit promise that she would be gentle with him, but firm.

"Oh, no, no! I mean, yes!" His eyes darted from her blue eyes, to the threatening silverware. "I mean, I can do it."

She scrutinized him for a few more seconds before turning the spoon around, handle pointed toward him.

"All right."

He lifted his hand. It almost slipped out of his fingers, but he clutched the spoon as tightly as he could, his hand trembling. Licking his lips, he raised it up to the tray that Dixie nudged closer to him. Resting his elbow on the tray table to steady it, he aimed the spoon at the bowl. He was holding it wrong, clutched in his fist, but he couldn't think of what to do to make it feel right.

The spoon clinked harshly against the bowl before he lifted the few drops of soup to his lips. It tasted like chicken. He swallowed and it did stay down.

"There. Now that wasn't so bad."

_Now have another._ Dixie didn't say it, but he could hear it in her voice, part encouragement, part promise.

Around the third or fourth half-spoonful, his queasy stomach seemed to settle. It felt a little more natural to hold the spoon. Then Dixie added a new complication.

"Cracker?"

"Uh . . . yeah." He lifted his other hand to take it, snatching it between two fingers and letting it fall into the soup. He hoped it looked intentional. Dixie didn't not look like she'd noticed. He took another shakey spoonful. At least the soup did not repel him anymore. Hoping to distract Dixie, he asked about the plane crash.

Apparently, Dr. Early had done a good job reporting to the press about his condition. But he would not let them speak to him for awhile. At first, John perked up about the recognition, but a moment later reality set in. He always froze up in front of those TV cameras. Sure, it was great to be on TV, but not if you looked like an idiot. Dixie assure him that he would be fine as she held the glass of water up to his lips. He drank; he could not object. If he could barely manage a spoon and cracker, he knew he couldn't drink from the glass without help.

The news was still buzzing about the Governor being killed. There had been a public memorial for him with the Lieutenant Governor (the new Governor now) and most of the biggest politicians in the state speaking. Even the President of the United States and the First Lady came. And a rich woman had been the single passenger on the smaller plane that collided with the Governor's jet. She had actually contributed to the Governor's last campaign. John was impressed. But Dixie was not detoured by the talk and was not satisfied until he finished his soup. And the crackers and water.

John was thoroughly tired by the time Nurse Simpson showed up again to take the tray away and thank Dixie for her help. The women left him alone. But his quiet doze didn't seem to last long. The therapist interrupted with a second visit from his parents with demands for him to push and pull with his hands and feet, and with checking reflexes that Early had already looked at. And the nurses kept coming back for vital signs as if they didn't trust him to keep breathing. Two of them were pretty cute. A blond and a brunette. Neither of them wore a wedding ring. But he couldn't find the strength to a ask if they were already seeing anyone or married. Not without his hair. He felt like Sampson with his locks sheared off.

The afternoon stretched on. Someone turned the TV set on and there was a news break about the funeral for the rich lady who died in the plane crash as well as a re-cap of what happened. John did a double-take up at the screen when a picture of himself, a standard black-and-white, in dress uniform and hat, was flashed on the screen with the news that 'the paramedic who was injured on the ground' had woken up from his coma at Rampart General Hospital. That made him scowl. He wouldn't call three days exactly a coma. Not really. He needed to tell his parents that.

The door opened.

"Hey!" Captain Stanley poked his head in.

"Hey!" He sat up in bed. Some of that pushing and pulling with Norm the therapist seemed to have done some good.

"Hey, Johnny!" Marco Lopez came in, followed by Mike Stoker and Chet Kelly. They were all in civilian clothes, jeans, shirts. John clicked the sound down on the TV.

"Hey, you're back with us." Kelly glanced up at the TV set. "You sure picked a hell of a way to make the news, getting a plane dropped on you."

The door opened again. "I got a plane dropped on me, too." Roy came in.

"Yeah, but it didn't land on your head." The others chuckled at Kelly's little joke.

"How're you doing?" Roy stepped up to the bed. "You look a lot better. You were still a little out of it this morning."

"Yeah, well . . . " John didn't know what to say about that. Out of it? When had he been out of it? Except when he was unconscious, of course. "I guess I'm feeling kind of better."

All the guys joined Roy by the bedside. He did not really like being the center of attention in a hospital bed, but it had happened to him before. Killer flu, rattlesnake bite, broken leg, car accident. He hoped he wasn't getting used to it. Mike Stoker had a vase of yellow and orange flowers and he unobtrusively put them on the inset bureau next to the blue and purple flowers his mother had brought. Kelly had come with a stack of camping magazines that he put on the bedside table. He exchanged them with a paperback book with a bright pink and red cover and flowery gold lettering. John supposed it had been left behind by a previous patient, but he couldn't think of why Chet Kelly would want it.

"Doctor Early sounded pretty positive, but you might have to stay here for a week though." Roy shrugged; he understood what he'd been through. All the guys did.

"Oh, you'll be back at the Station in no time." Stanley grinned. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in a regulation haircut for once."

"Uh, yeah." John's hand involuntarily went to the white bandages at his neck and wound up, over and around his head.

"Hey, having a convention in here?" Doctor Early, in white coat and stethoscope came in, followed by Brackett and Dixie, still in her blue blouse and white pants. Brackett had on a tailored, blue ployester pinstripe suit, vest and striped tie and he nodded approval from the end of the bed.

"You're looking pretty good, Johnny." Brackett gave Early an appreciative nod. "Thanks to the good doctor here."

Early shrugged. "Well, it wasn't just me. Our star patient had something to do with it as well."

Everyone else heartily agreed. It was kind of crowded in the room with eight other people there, but John was fine with that.

Everyone was there.

**=O=O=O= END =O=O=O=**

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
